


Moskovitch

by empressofmisrule, VidarsVixens



Category: Ylvis
Genre: Action, Monkeys, Other, Scenes of mild peril, Superboys, Ylvis saves the day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-22
Updated: 2014-10-22
Packaged: 2018-02-22 05:35:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2496356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressofmisrule/pseuds/empressofmisrule, https://archiveofourown.org/users/VidarsVixens/pseuds/VidarsVixens
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Two women who have everything totally under control receive some ... um...help. Super help.<br/>Story By Elaine Weber and empressofmisrule</p>
            </blockquote>





	Moskovitch

The show was over, but the thinned crowd seemed happy to nurse their drinks and chat with the revue duo who were now out of costume. I knew most of them were guests, or guests-of-guests of the boutique hotel a group of us women run, and I would have to shoo some of them back to their rooms at close.

Then in walked the man. Classic, straight out of an American mob movie, white-suited white-hatted trouble rolled up to my bar. I was glad the Kabaret was over, or I might have been too distracted to have noticed right away that the two thugs glowering behind him in black suits had actually been here all evening. The hair at the back of my neck prickled and my hands ached for the prybar under the register. However, keeping my hands visible was better. Lunging for a weapon might escalate things.

I raised my voice so it would carry to the back room. "Well what'll it be, my good man!" I said in a buttery drawl from the American South. Not my real accent, but a signal for trouble to the rest of my crew. My Marketing Director/tonight's barback was in the kitchen grabbing a late dinner. I knew she would have my back.

-Oh, please don't let them have guns!- I thought as I scanned their clothing without shifting my eyes around. The one on the left almost certainly had a number of knives about his person. The other lump had fists like cinderblocks. Shorty in the white suit looked clean, but I never assume no holdouts. Out from behind the reception desk I could see my business partner creeping, hefting a large heavy crystal candleholder in one hand. She can fight tough and smart, I knew. We so had this.

Clack! clack! clack! Went the shot glasses on the bar. "Step up and have a taste!" I grinned, slopping mid-shelf whiskey into tiny tumblers; a distraction as well as a weapon, the heavy liquor bottle. Oh, this fight was going to be sooo pretty. But if I smash this bloke's face in with my splintery glass bottle, shards and blood making stained glass patterns on the white suit, how was my barback going to clip those other two suckers both fast enough? We had to do this so no patrons got hurt. I snuck a peek over at the audience and saw the taller of the two actors casually going from table to table telling people to be cool, but get out. The other guy, the curly one, was helping a drunken old tart we call Petunia out the stageside exit on his arm, crimson kiss mark on one cheek. Bless their adorable little hearts, I thought.

White Suit was opening his mouth, raising his arm in a backhanding gesture, and I was shifting my weight to dive for my tire iron when there was a bright yellowy light as though there was a big car's headlights beaming into the room and an impossibly loud noise I knew very well was a train horn, but really much closer than a train should be to our entrance way. Everyone started and looked toward the door, blinded by the glare of the light.

And I swear to you. I really mean this literally. I saw this, and I was not on drugs, there were no unexplained after events, and I have one corroborating witness. Right there in front of our faces warmed by the radiant light, from either side of the source of the searing glow, framed by our red and gold velvet wallpapered entrance way, there came monkeys.

They were not flying monkeys as I immediately thought, but just regular squirrel monkeys or spider monkeys or something. On my chandelier in the foyer, in the potted ficus trees, on my bar, barback and the gangsters there were instantly monkeys, as though someone had let off a monkey bomb. Then, there in the doorway, backlit by that unearthly light were the silhouettes of two figures ...................in eye masks and capes!

I kid you not, fair reader, and full-body spandex jumpsuits too. They paused statuesquely for only a moment and then started to make fake Samurai movie noises and pose in mock martial combat stances. As they maneuvered farther into the room, making little hut-hut noises like football players in an After School Special, I could see the one wearing blue makeup with his orange leotard crouching low to the floor. Fast as green spandexed lightning, the maroon make-upped one ran up the other’s back and just missed kicking the two thugs in their ugly faces. Just as his sleek and taught muscled body described its graceful arc through the air the very tips of his shoes caught each one in the nose. He landed on his feet and rolled, popping up to face the action. In this moment of precision confusion, super orange-suited guy took two sprint steps up to the trio and two sprint steps back, trailing wires from a small black box with toggle switches. His deft thumbs flicked the switches expertly and current followed the wire pathways up to the heads of the two goons, plus their boss. All three fell immediately to the floor, apparently out cold. The pressure-sticky pads connecting their foreheads to the black box via the stringy wires were unceremoniously torn free. The orange- and green-jumpsuited guys (for guys they noticeably were) scooped up each dude together and ran outside carrying first the boss, then Knives, and then (struggling under the weight) Fists. 

Meanwhile monkeys plundered our service area, ripping pages from the reservation ledger and eating them, blowing napkins and menu cards off the tables with a leaf blower, and fighting over the sugar tongs.

The costumed men ran back inside one last time to grab the black box waving its wires like a sad jellyfish, and for Blue makeup boy to whistle nearly as loudly as that train horn had been and yell "MOSKOVITCH!", at which all the invading monkey army perked up their heads, looked into the bright light still streaming through the door, and bolted as one body for the exit. And when the last monkey tail was out of site the light went off and I was just standing there looking over the bartop at my marketing gal holding a cut crystal candle holder in one hand, and a pepper spray in the other, both of us blinking away the purple blotches the incandescence had left on our vision.

I turned from toward the stage to see if any of our customers remained and nearly jumped right out of my skin as there was a man leaning at the end of the counter just behind me. But it was only the cheerful entertainer guy and his sweet brother "just checking" on us. Curly boy now had two crimson kiss marks on his face. They thought those "ruffians" might have been giving us some trouble, but it looks like we handled it ok, and was it alright that they cleared the theatre of audience members? Oh, yes, we assured them that it was a big help. Great! Great! Big smiles all around.

Then they awkwardly turned towards each other and made their way out of the room. I ran out after them, but they had already gotten into their ratty yellow car and started up the motor. As I stood with my mouth open, unasked questions piling up in my head, Curly Top leaned his head out of the driver's side window. He said "Dasvidanya, printzessa" in a deep growly voice, winked at me and blew a kiss. The car spun out, I caught a glimpse of a license plate that said “Шлюха 1” and heard a strange whooshing sound. A monkey appeared out of nowhere and leaped into the open driver-side window, then the car vanished with a blinding flash of golden light and another deafening horn toot.

The two of us strode silently back to the bar and closed without speaking. Only once while we were picking up napkins did we whisper to each other with pleading and wonderment the one word…”Monkeys?”


End file.
